I Don't Like Spiders and Snakes...

...and that ain't what it takes to love me...

That old Jim Stafford song came to mind this summer when I found a snake on my patio. Where snakes don't belong. Next to my patio door.

I was trying to slip quietly out the patio door to snap a picture of a baby bunny in the backyard. I looked down at the flowerpots.  "There's a snake on my patio!" I yelled.  I was NOT happy.  My son came out, took one look and disappeared into the house.  I tried to be calm - as calm as I could be with a snake on my patio, anyway!  I closed the door and moved slowly away.  It didn't move, so I started snapping pictures.  Proof for my husband that it really was there, because I had no doubt it would escape before he came home. 

My son finally came back out to the patio, dressed in jeans and work boots and carrying a long-handled shovel.  I grabbed a big bucket from the shed.  He stuck the shovel between the flower pots and dragged the snake out where we could pop the bucket over top of it.  And then we put a huge rock on top because I wasn't taking any chances that it could get out!

Son wanted to kill it and eat it; he said he's curious what snake tastes like.  I was all for killing it but he wasn't going to cook it in MY house!  Hubby overruled us both when he arrived home.  He shoveled it into another bucket and took it out in the country to turn it loose.  Being paranoid, I went along to be sure he went far, far away before he turned it loose.   

That was Saturday.  I didn't sleep for days, worrying about that snake coming back.  Thursday night, Hubby stuck his head in the back door and asked Son to come help him for a minute.  In that instant, I knew that snake was back!  Son came back in to get batteries for a headlamp and admitted Hubby had seen a snake by the shed door.  What was Hubby thinking when he left it there to come get help?  I can't believe he thought it would stay there, just waiting for him to catch it.  And of course, it didn't.  When they went back out, it was gone.  It was kind of funny, watching them bob around the backyard in the dark with flashlights. But they never did find it and I refused to go out in the backyard for a few more days.

Now I check beside the flowerpots before I open the patio door.  I'm thinking a nicely landscaped yard isn't necessarily a great thing.  Maybe just plain old dirt would be better...

There is no "I" in "TEAM"

I'm becoming grumpy and opinionated in my midlife. 

We recently attended the annual fall sports dinner hosted by the fan club, followed by an introduction of students playing fall sports.  I think it's great that the kids are recognized.

But I want to blow the whistle on politics in school sports.

Back in my day, playing sports was very different than it is today. Athletes worked to earn their place on a team, and every one of them had equal opportunity. If you had an off day, you sat and someone else got a chance to play. Your teammates were supportive, not bullies.  And it didn’t matter who your parents were.

Today, many athletes are not required to earn their place.  They have a starting spot because they have the right name.  If you don’t have the right name, you’re never given an opportunity to show what you can do.  If these “star” athletes have an off day, they still play, while others who are perfectly capable of taking their place sit the bench.  Teammates are cocky and rude, putting others down more often than not.  But coaches do nothing.  It matters more who your parents are, and what they can do for the school – or for the coach. 

You see, too many parents are living vicariously through their athletes.  Too many parents believe their athlete is better than every other athlete out there, and that the rules should not apply to their child. They believe their child should never have to sit out – for any reason.   

There is no “I” in “TEAM”, people.

I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. I want to lead by example, and teach my kids to stand up for what they believe in, for what is right.  But if I speak out about this practice, my children will bear the brunt of the backlash. I’ve seen it happen to others.  My children have begged us not to say anything – they’d rather suffer through it than have us complain.  So what’s a parent to do?

This parent is counting the years until the youngest graduates...

Welcome to the Midlife Referee

I am a forty-something mother of two teenagers and the eldest (bossy) daughter of aging parents.  Although I am not a certified referee, I feel I have earned my stripes with my family.  I often find myself trying to keep the peace between my teenagers and their father (who is my third child), or commiserating with one parent over why the other is driving them crazy.  In addition to my referee stripes, I have earned every single gray hair on my head!

The Midlife Referee is my outlet for staying sane.  I hope reading about my experiences can either make you laugh, or encourage you to stay strong as you cope with your own family crisis. You CAN do it!

So grab your whistle and join me in this adventure!